


your hand in mine

by dreamsdark



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: (scandalous!), Fluff, Holding Hands, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsdark/pseuds/dreamsdark
Summary: Forsyth studies Python's hands, and Python completely fails at impulse control.





	your hand in mine

**Author's Note:**

> i'm finally contributing to the ship...  
> took me long enough  
> i actually just finished echoes yesterday, and finished the fic today...huh
> 
> they're some years younger here btw

Forsyth comes to watch Python while he’s putting up targets to shoot at. Which is unusual by itself, considering Forsyth’s tendency to train well into the night until Python has to drag him away. But even stranger is how Forsyth just stands and watches, focusing on him with an unknown intent.

“You gonna just stand there or help?” Python may as well get something out of Forsyth’s weirdness.

“Huh—oh, right!” He shakes his head, some of his hair falling over his forehead. Python resists a faint urge to reach out and smooth it back. “Yes, yes, I mean.” 

Setting up was always the most tedious part of practicing, but with the both of them, it only takes about half as long. Forsyth’s targets are spread unevenly and kind of wobbly, really, but he figures that’s a good thing. People are uneven and wobbly, after all. (They’re also moving, but that’s details.)

Practicing archery is just about the one thing Python can do without Forsyth criticizing him. So he takes six shots in quick succession, only with the twang of the bowstring and the thunk of arrows to fill the silence. “Any reason you here?”

“No, not particularly,” Forsyth denies in the way Python can tell he’s definitely got something on his mind. He’s sure he’ll tell him, though—Forsyth’s never been one for secrets. So Python pushes it out of his mind and concentrates. He hits most of the targets, but few dead on—which he deems acceptable, considering the speed he’s practicing at. Forsyth is quiet, but Python’s pretty sure he’s resisting the urge to say something.

A particularly red leaf falls from a tree a ways away, which he completely fails to hit it with the impulsive shot he takes, scaring away some birds in a bush instead. They caw and screech and kick up dust from underneath them, breaking the lull that had settled over the clearing.

Python takes that as his clue to pack up, and Forsyth comes over to help without prompting this time. “Alright, spill.” He appreciates the silence, but now it’s becoming awkward. 

“I was just thinking…you archers and we foot soldiers are quite different, aren’t they?”

“…Obviously?”  _Where is this going…_  “Wait, you’re…gods, you’re not trying to learn this again!” Forsyth has many skills; archery was not among them and would never be.

“Sh-shut up!” 

“You nearly got my eye last time, it’s not like I’m overreacting here.” 

“That was _one_ time!”

“And the _only_ time.” 

“But I—that’s not even it!” His face is flushed completely, and Python has to suppress a snicker.  _Looks like a tomato with that hair._  “It’s just, how we practice differently?” He grabs Python’s right hand without warning. “See, you’ve got these…”

“Callouses?” he supplies.

“Callouses.” Forsyth echoes, turning Python’s hand over and prodding at an insignificant scar on the back of it. 

Python really hopes Forsyth doesn’t notice the heat rising to his cheeks. Right now, at least, he seems too enamored with his hands, taking his left to compare. “So you aim with this one, and draw with the other…” 

“That’s generally how you shoot a bow, yes.” Something, anything, to get his mind cleared. “You’ve callouses too; they’re nothing special.”

Forsyth thinks over this for a moment, then presses his palm against Python’s. His hands are bigger, but not by much; just enough so Python’s fingertips reach barely over the line of Forsyth’s first knuckle. Forsyth’s palm is rough from wielding a lance, but his fingertips are still strangely soft—especially compared to Python’s, strengthened by the sharpness of a bowstring. 

He’s staring at their hands, but Forsyth is too—actually, now Forsyth’s looking at his face, mouth slightly open like he’s realized something. 

The temptation is just too much.

So Python leans forward, trapping their hands between their chests, and presses his lips to Forsyth’s own.

Of course Forsyth immediately jumps away, spluttering. “P-Python! What was that?”

“A kiss.” Their hands parted when Forsyth drew back, and Python can’t help the disappointment he feels. 

“I know that!” he snaps indignantly. “But  _why_?”

“Why?” Python supposes he should feel at least a little shame, but he still can’t muster any up. Forsyth just looks far too cute when he’s flustered. “Why do people kiss? I don’t have to spell that out, do I?”

If anything, his face turns redder. “O-oh…really?” 

Actually, there were many reasons to kiss someone, but Forsyth is surely thinking of just the one.  _Such a romantic…_  “You really never noticed, huh.” 

If someone could die from blushing alone, Forsyth would definitely be in danger. “…I should…kiss you, then?” 

“Ugh, no. Kissing someone who doesn’t want to be kissed isn’t any fun.” Which…Python had just done. 

That realization breaks the contented haze he’d fallen into, plunging him straight into regret.  _What an unfamiliar feeling…_  “So—” he starts to apologize, but Forsyth cuts him off. 

With his mouth. 

This kiss lasts a bit longer, until Python gets tired of Forsyth’s clumsiness, endearing as it is, and breaks away. “You not hear what I said or something?”

“But I  _do_  want to!” Forsyth insists, blunt as ever. “You just startled me.” 

Well, that’s new. 

Seeing no reason to waste time, Python brings them together again with a hand on the back of Forsyth’s neck. “C’mon, do something,” he murmurs against Forsyth’s lips. “Feels like I’m sucking face with a damn statue.” 

Forsyth is still so tense, and they’ve barely done anything. “Relax.” 

“I’m trying!” 

“You’re not supposed to  _try_  to relax…” He runs a finger down the back of Forsyth’s neck, feeling him shiver. “Sensitive?” An idea—Python bends a little, kissing under his chin, then works his way down to Forsyth’s collarbone, feeling the way his breaths come out short and harsh.

His skin tastes like salt, and really, Python can’t get enough of it.

“ _Python_ ,” Forsyth manages, already breathless. 

“Yeah?”

“I want…” He tilts Python’s head up, then pulls him closer—so close that Forsyth somehow trips over Python’s leg and falls backward, pulling Python down with him.

Forsyth looks so completely startled that Python can’t help laughing, completely wholeheartedly.

It must be contagious, because Forsyth is smiling too, wide and bright. 

“What was that?” 

“It was supposed to be…”

“Be?”  _Don’t leave me hanging._

“A kiss…” he finishes, dropping to a whisper.  _Still shy?_

“You’ve got some idea of one…” Now Python’s fully aware of his chest guard uncomfortably stuck between them, so he rolls off and reluctantly pushes himself upright. 

Forsyth winces as he sits up. “You alright?”

“Think my shoulder hit a rock, ow…” He’s frowning now, and Python already misses his smile.

“Come with me, I’ll put some ice on it.”

“You have ice now?” It’s still early fall.

“…cold water,” he amends. “You didn’t hit your head, right?” 

“No…but…” He bites his lip, which just makes Python want to kiss him.

Which he could do now. Just lean over, close his eyes, and capture Forsyth’s lips with his own. They’re chapped but soft, and part willingly when Python swipes his tongue over them. A returned kiss, he decides, no matter how awkward or clumsy, is by far his favorite kind.

When they break apart, Forsyth is panting. Python gives him a moment to collect himself. “Breathe. Through your nose.”

“R-right…” He initiates this time, but stops when their foreheads are touching. “What do  I…my hands. Where do I put them?”

“Wherever you’d like.” Python can’t help but tease him a little.

“Then…” Forsyth takes his hand in his own, kissing him chastely. 

 _Such a sap…_  Python pretends like that hadn’t made his heart skip a beat, tilting his head to bring them even closer together and squeezing Forsyth’s hand.

Forsyth, for once, is quiet. Probably because he literally can’t speak with his mouth occupied, but still—Python could treasure it while it lasted.

It’s only when Python accidentally nudges Forsyth’s shoulder, making him flinch, that they stop. “Should probably get that looked at, hm?” Forsyth is looking in his direction, but his mind’s definitely somewhere else. “Forsyth?”

“Ah! Yes—yes, of course.”

“C’mon, then.” Python is the first to stand, offering a hand and pulling Forsyth up by his good arm.

“Alright.” And if he touches his fingers to his lips, Python smiles but doesn’t say a word.

**Author's Note:**

> on a scale from 1 to 10 how obvious is it that i don't usually write romance  
> ...is this even romance?  
> idk  
> *kid voice* kissing is weird  
> ...this is honestly so sappy i don't know how i wrote this
> 
> anyway please appreciate forsython with me thanks--  
> my tumblr ([dreamy--dark](http://dreamy--dark.tumblr.com/))


End file.
